


Marks

by CaptClockwork



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alpha!Sherlock, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, M/M, Omega!John, Omegalock, Omegaverse, Romance, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-18
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 13:08:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/515553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptClockwork/pseuds/CaptClockwork
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This understanding he gained from seeing the mark made the idea of moving in with the man so ludicrous. Because John knew that Sherlock could never be The One, no matter what a mark on his arm said. He was always taught as a small child that your markmate was crafted by the heavens above as someone who was perfect for you. And while he never really took much religion and fairy tale to heart as he got older, he knew from a very young age that his mate would never be an Alpha. "</p><p>Soulmate and Omegaverse AU with secretOmega!John and Alpha!Sherlock</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Johnlock Challenge gift exchange. 
> 
> My prompt was given to me by the patient areyouwearinganypants on Tumblr. 
> 
> It was: _It’s an AU where people have predetermined soul mates, but perhaps also alpha/beta/omega. The name of the soul mate is written on their left inner fore - arm. Next to the name is a sign telling you if they’re alpha, omega, or beta. Johnlock, with Alpha!Sherlock and Omega!John._
> 
> I made it the right inner forearm just for convenience. 
> 
> Thank you so much to Rachel (seasofstarlight on Tumblr) and Eva (evalinaphoenix) for helping me get this done. Without you guys, I would be left pulling my hair out until I was bald. 
> 
> It's not amazing, I'm sorry if it feels a little stiff, but I hope you enjoy it! I'll have the second (and maybe third depending on how I decide to split it up) chapter up as soon as I get my computer back from the shop!
> 
> I love constructive criticism, so please leave comments telling me how I could improve! It's the only way I'll ever get better!

John knew what was on Sherlock’s arm from the moment he met the man. Not because John possessed any sort of deductive abilities like his colleague, but because Sherlock never troubled to wear an armband. He simply stuck out a hand in greeting, his dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, wearing nothing else to hide the dark blue marks shining bright against alabaster skin. Normal etiquette would tell him to avert his eyes from the exposed bit of flesh, like one would with a stranger’s child who had done something rude in public, but curiosity usually always won over common sense. It had always been this way with John since he can remember, and, really, this is most likely the reason he found himself with the man over a year later, chasing after criminals and placing milk besides body parts in the fridge. 

John understood what the _John_ written in delicate script against a large blue Omega symbol across Sherlock’s skin meant as soon as he heard the name. Standing struck dumb in the laboratory of St. Bart’s, his skin of his arm prickling under constricting canvas, he knew what this meant. This understanding he gained from seeing the mark made the idea of moving in with the man so ludicrous. Because John knew that Sherlock could never be The One, no matter what a mark on his arm said. He was always taught as a small child that your markmate was crafted by the heavens above as someone who was perfect for you. And while he never really took much religion and fairy tale to heart as he got older, he knew from a very young age that his mate would never be an Alpha. 

John went though his adolescence always assuming he would be an Alpha like his big sister. Watching her grow up, strong, confident, and with a bright future that society always offered to Alpha's, it made John realize he wanted nothing else in the world but to be useful. When his first heat hit, however, all of those dreams were meant to disappear like smoke. His parents were much softer with him from then after, treating him like fragile goods, refusing to let him continue playing rugby and making plans to take him out of school as soon as his required education was taken care of. John fought and argued with his parents, pleading for them to let him go to college, but like many they followed the social idea that an Omega’s place was at home with the family. 

“It’s how the world works,” his mother would say, “You _are_ important. You’re a cog in a functioning machine. Without people like you to stay and take care of the children, Alphas and Betas wouldn’t be able to go out and keep the world turning.”

But John was not content with his predestined place in society. He wanted to go out and turn the world, not stay in and watch it pass around him. However, nothing he said or did convinced his parents otherwise. So, when he turned 18, he joined the army. While an Omega in the barracks was unusual, everyone- Alpha, Beta, or Omega- was forced to take hormone suppressants and spray with pheromone sterilizers, so many of his mates were none the wiser to what he was. 

John learned quickly in the army to keep his mouth shut about his sex. Just because everyone was taking suppressants didn’t mean that they didn’t get lonely. After the first “I wish there was an Omega here. I don’t care if they were hideous. First one I saw, fuck would I bend them over and give them the knotting of their lives.” John made sure to keep his identity tags hidden under his shirt. 

Before long, it became a habit. John noticed he got much more respect when he told his friends and colleges that he was a Beta than he did when he was an Omega. It became who he wanted to be, and as far as anyone else knew, it _was_ who he was. Even after he was invalided, he kept up his strict regimen of pills and sprays to come off to anyone he met as a Beta. His biggest test of all was passing in front of Sherlock, but as the treatment was made to fool even the most hormone addled insurgent, Sherlock was none the wiser. But even with this, John knew from the very start that Sherlock must never know what lie under John’s military issued armband. So, no matter the day or night, no matter how hot and itchy and irritating it may become, John kept it on. If Sherlock found it suspicious, he never said a word. 

Sherlock made his own feelings quite plain from the start. Really, it was because John couldn’t help asking why the man chose to walk around with his forearm bare. They were sitting over dinner at Angelo’s, stalking the building across the street, when the question bubbled up from inside of him and burst from his lips.

“So, uh, why don’t you cover your Mark?” 

Right as he asked the question, he wished instantly he could take it back. Sherlock finally looked away from his vigil of the street, turning his analytical eye to John.

“Because,” he said slowly “The notion of a soulmate is absolute nonsense. There is no real proof that the name written on one’s forearm has anything to do with mating. Studies have shown that nearly 30% of people never find someone that matches their Mark that they mate with for life. And the media hypes up the idea of your ‘Markmate’ so much that I wouldn’t doubt the other end of that statistic just so happened to run into someone that matched their Mark and mated with them on that fact alone. It’s foolish to let your life be run by nothing more than a birthmark.”

John blinked, taking in Sherlock’s rant, which had risen in volume and speed as it carried on. Sherlock, at the other end of the table, seemed fairly harassed, glaring at John as if waiting for him to protest his logic. 

“Alright,” John said after a pause. “That’s fine. It’s all fine.”

Sherlock said nothing, turning instead back to stare out into the street. But his shoulders seemed to drain of a bit of their tension at John’s words.

 

And so John knew not to mention markmates again with the man. It was obviously a sore subject with him and, anyway, John should be relieved. He finds the soulmate he always resented having, and finds out that the man resents him just as much. John should feel great. Like a dark cloud that has been following him for years has finally let the sun shine through. 

But he doesn’t. John doesn’t go shooting strangers for just anyone, but the pull of the trigger felt so right in that moment. The same moment he spent watching Sherlock moving to take that pill. The same moment he decided that he would readily kill for a man he just met. 

John lied awake for many sleepless nights, trying desperately to chalk it up to his kneejerk reaction to save an innocent man. But every time he goes running off after the madman he knows that this idea is a fantasy. Because he knew he would defend this man with his life, and not for some doctor’s oath or soldiers promise, but for something much more deep-seated, easier than breathing. His mother always told him “when you find him, you’ll just know”. Jesus, but knowing did not make this any easier. 

But even with all this uncertainty, John was at least content with the fact that he was in no rush to figure things out. He didn’t need to be. Sherlock was none the wiser one way or the other, and their relationship was hectic enough just as friends and colleagues without adding anything else on tip of it. Really, John was satisfied staying undecided for a very long while. 

But not, it seemed, if Mycroft Holmes had anything to say about it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off I want to apologize that this is so short after I've made you guys wait so long. Thank you so much for being so good about it, guys. I was going to post it all together, but I thought this was a good place to stop for a chapter. I have half of the next part already written, and I don't know if I'll separate that, making 4 chapters, or if it'll just be one big one. I'll see how it turns out. 
> 
> I really have no excuse for making you wait so long. I'm just lazy and not very good at keeping promises to people. I am the worst for writing things over multiple sessions because I always let it rot thinking "I'm not in the right mindset to write today" or some bs. I'm so sorry. Really, it eats away at me every day for not continuing this sooner. 
> 
> Thanks again to Rachel (seasofstarlight on Tumblr) for giving some beta advice and generally just being awesome.

“Do you know why I brought you here, John?” Mycroft asked, tapping his umbrella against cold concrete.

“No, not really.” John said, trying to think back to see if he could remember Sherlock turning down any international mysteries lately. 

“You and Sherlock have been cronies for at least a year now,” Mycroft said pleasantly, as though the thought had just occurred to him. John doubted very much Mycroft ever had things ‘just occur to him’ in a conversation.

“Yes…” John replied uncertainly, not exactly sure where he was going with this. 

“Well, that’s quite a long time,” Mycroft continued, his tone still light. “I was wondering if you’ve given any thought to your markmate.” 

The material on his arm itched, and John wanted to scratch it in irritation, but he forced himself to resist the urge, not wishing to be so easily read. His left hand gave a small tremor. 

“It says here,” Mycroft said, pulling out a small file from the confines of his suit jacket. “That your mark is a blue alpha symbol with the name ‘Sherlock’ across it, is it not?”

John swallowed his anger, staring straight ahead, decidedly not looking at the confidential military file in Mycroft’s fingers and instead into his beady blue eyes. 

“Yes,” Was the only reply he gave. 

“Well, seeing as my brother refuses to show common decency and wear a band to hide his mark, you must know how his own reads.” Mycroft persisted, actually sounding a bit exasperated at how long it was taking them to get to the point. 

“I do know, I also know that none of this is your business.” John replied sternly, a bit of his frustration seeping into his voice. 

“Oh, John, there’s no need to be like that. I’m only trying to help. For all the ranting Sherlock does against the concept, I think he would be quite pleased to find out that you are his mate.” Mycroft paused, almost making a show of considering the conclusion he must have come to long before this. “Unless this is because you do not want to revel that you are actually an Omega?”

John said nothing, but his silence couldn’t have been more of an acquiesce if he had screamed. 

“Yes, apparently my dear brother has no idea.” He frowned slightly. “It seems he is becoming rather rusty, if he couldn’t recognize the telltale scent of the blocker you use.”

“Right,” John pushed out through gritted teeth. “Thanks once again for poking your nose in my private life, but I think we’re done here. Are you taking me back to Baker Street, or should I take a cab?”

“John, you-“

“Fine, then,” John sighed, turning to find his own way out and onto the main street. 

“But John,” Mycroft called to his retreating form “If you don’t tell him, I will.”

John’s stride didn’t falter, but he couldn’t help the cold rush of dread that came with the “One week, Dr. Watson” That followed him out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello? Anyone here? I'm so sorry about leaving this for so very long. I really don't have much of an excuse. I'm really touched by all of your comments and kudos, however. I was so surprised that you all loved this so much. I'm going to try my very best to actually finish this right. Here's another chapter. I'm thinking I might do two more before I'm done. Hopefully I'll actually write it. 
> 
> Thanks so much to Rachel (PrincessofHighGarden on Tumblr) for betaing and generally being supportive.

John didn’t go home after his encounter with Mycroft, refusing the black car that dogged his steps for a couple of blocks before giving up and speeding away. He walked for what seemed like hours, ignoring the twinge in his leg that was flaring up again (of course, on top of everything else). He walked until the evening became night and the sidewalk was only lit by the bright and busy city around him. 

Finally, exhausted, he paused and actually took time to inspect the world around him. He was in an unfamiliar part of the city, but there was an old and weathered sign advertising for a pub just ahead. John patted his pockets and found with a grateful sigh that he hadn’t left his wallet. Good, because pubs thankfully meant a warm seat and a cold beer, and that was exactly what the good doctor needed. 

The pub was a shabby, mostly wooden affair, covered in scuffs and a dust that seemed one could never really wash away. It was mostly empty, besides a drunk at the far end of the bar, head leaning on one wall, snoring lightly. The large and hairy bartender didn’t seem to mind, though. He just hummed to himself, washing the haggard looking bartop with affection. When John walked in he looked up, smiling. John took a seat in front of him. 

“What’ll it be, then?” He asked. 

“Just...Just whatever’s light on tap, ta.” John sighed. 

The man gave him a shrewd look. 

“Looks like you could use somein’ a bit stronger than that.” He commented, not unkindly. He poured the beer anyway and placed it on the bar. John took it with a grateful nod, not paying him much mind. But then John took another breath on a sigh and looked up, surprised. That smell. It couldn’t be the sleeping man, he was too far away. He looked up at the barman with what was, admittedly, a rude expression of shock. 

The barman seemed to understand what he had realized, and his kind gaze turned hard. 

“If you’ve gotta problem bein’ served by an Omega, then you can leave,” He growled. 

“No!” John insisted, lifting up his hands in a pacifying gesture. “No, not at all. I think it’s amazing, actually. I...I didn't know Omegas did that sort of thing is all.” He looked at the man for a moment, unsure if he should ask, but it slipped from him before he could tell himself no. “Aren't you afraid?”

To his surprise, the man laughed, his expression now relaxed. Maybe he sensed the earnestness in John’s voice, because he did not seem offended by the question. 

“Naw. I mean, look at me,” The man said, gesturing to his hulking mass. “Even if some big ‘eaded Alpha’s gotta problem, none really make it past rude glarin’.”

John smiled and gave an assenting nod. 

“I suppose you’re right,” He agreed. For some reason, the thought made the hard knot of dread that had balled up under his heart loosen just a little. The barman was still giving him that assessing look, however, and for a moment John was painfully reminded of Sherlock. 

“Bet you’ve seena fair share of them sorta Alphas, yourself,” He commented meaningfully. 

John looked up from the beer he had been attempting to attend to, panic making him momentarily mute. 

“Oh, don’t look like that,” He said with a chuckle. “It ain’t nothin’ to do with your sprays or that other nonsense,” He gave a shrug. “Suppose it just takes one fightin’ Omega to know another.” 

John knew he should be terrified that this man seemed to know just by looking at him that he wasn’t a Beta, but that kind of shock was so at home with him now that he could only smile. 

“John,” He said, by way of greeting, sticking out his hand. The man took it in one of his own massive paws, shaking it so enthusiastically he felt his arm may fall off. “Lomax.”

John went back to his beer and Lomax to his loyal but fruitless attempt at scrubbing the bartop. He kept giving the doctor glances, however, and after a few moments he asked casually “So, what’s got you lookin’ so glum, then, eh?”

John paused, unsure what, if anything, he should tell this man. 

“They say the best man to tell your troubles to is an ol’ barman,” He rumbled softly. 

John sighed, scrubbing one hand across his brow. 

“I’ve...I’ve got this friend, yeah? And he’s a great guy and all, amazing really, but he’s an Alpha. And, you know, I wouldn’t really care. I mean, he doesn’t pull any bullshit with me, even as an Alpha to a Beta. But, you see, he’s…” John sighed, the movement making him deflate slightly. “He’s my markmate. I’ve been keeping it from him for, God, about a year now.” 

Lomax watched him speak with an unreadable expression, still working away at his bar. But when John announced this Alpha was his markmate, the man’s arm paused. 

“Ah, well,” Lomax said, “I suppose I coulda seen why you’d be so bent outta shape about an Alpha markmate before you met ‘em, but I’mma bit atta loss as to why you’re so upset over it now. I mean, if he’s a good’n, then why does it matter?”

“Because,” John said, his voice growing flat with defeat as he thought over his situation. “He doesn’t want a markmate. He told me so the first day we met.”

Lomax gave a thoughtful hum. “Well, I mean, you didn’ want yours neither at first,” He pointed out. “Maybe he’d come ‘round, if he knew it were you.” 

John didn’t respond for a moment, taking a long pull off of his drink. He drained the glass and placed it on the bartop. Lomax took the glass and refilled it silently.

“Well, it seems like I’m going to have to tell him whether I want to or not,” John finally said miserably. “His brother found out, and now he’s threatening to tell him if I don’t.” 

Lomax frowned. “Well, that’s just ridiculous,” He growled angrily. “Sounds like a meddler.” 

John laughed humorlessly, making work on his second pint. “Yeah, you could say that. It’s practically his job.”

“Well,” Lomax gave a huge heaving sigh. “It seems that you don’t got much a choice, now. You’ll be wantin’ to tell ‘em before his no good brother can.”

John groaned, folding his face into his hands, his forehead against the cool glass of his pint. “You’re right, I know you’re right,” He moaned. “I just...I don’t know what I’m going to do. He’s probably going to ask me to move out.”

“Now, now, you don’ know that,” Lomax said gently. “I mean, I’m not gonna pretend I know your friend better than you, but if he’s the sorta folk you seem to think he is, I don’ think he’ll just drop ya.” 

John sighed and lifted his head from the grimy bartop. “Maybe, I don’t know,” He said into his pint. “I just think I should be prepared for the worst.”

“Aye. I know that sorta mentality’s served me well before,” Lomax agreed with a look of pity. “But I wouldn’ just up and leave before you talk to ‘em, yeah?” 

John nodded and said nothing, draining the last of his pint. 

“Maybe you’re right, Lomax,” John said, still not looking very confident. “I think I’m going to talk to him, before I lose my nerve.”

Lomax grinned. “That’s a good man. And hey, if it don’ work out, you come back here. Drinks on the house, alright?” 

John gave a genuine smile. “Thanks, yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.”

He paid, leaving a couple of extra notes for the kindly barman and stood to leave. He was still very sober, but the beer sat warm in his stomach and helped crush a bit of the aching emptiness that was starting to fill him. On his way out he spotted a rack of local listings books. He plucked one out of it’s metal holder and stuffed it into his pocket. Might as well be prepared.

With one last wave at Lomax he stepped back into the biting cold of London night. Cars were rushing down the road, people pushing past him on the street and for the first time in his memory John found himself feeling small in comparison to the endless hustle and bustle of the city. Something in him ached terribly at the thought of never again seeing its life through the eyes of his mad detective. He tried to squash down his misery, but even with Lomax’s kind words and beers it was proving to be an impossible task. Well, there really wasn't anything more for it. With a wave of his hand he hailed a cab and asked the driver to take him back to Baker Street.


End file.
